


Vibrance in Silence

by PantsQueen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 02:09:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10607115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PantsQueen/pseuds/PantsQueen
Summary: They knew it was going to happen. Eventually.But they weren't in any rush.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ok. So. A few quick notes:
> 
> 1) Shout out to my girls (tootsie, frass, prags, lori, janey, suds) who helped me find the fine line between *sexy* and *ew no*
> 
> 2) The two songs referenced are both by Lord Huron. The first, To The Ends of the Earth. The second, The Night We Met. If you haven't heard them, go right now and listen!
> 
> 3) This fic was supposed to be 1500. But omg I just got swept away in the Stydia vibezzz. Not sorry at all. 
> 
> 4) You can find me on twitter @PantsQueenn where I basically worship Dylan O'Brien's jawline and etc
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Mostly, it was about location. 

Location, location, location. 

Specifically, Stiles Stilinski preferred to be located in close vicinity to wherever Lydia Martin happened to be at any given time. 

Since he returned from the hunt. Since the kiss. Since her declaration of love. 

Stiles made it his business to breathe the same air as Lydia whenever humanly possible. 

Every day since, Stiles woke up and immediately reached for his phone to call or text Lydia. Sometimes, there was a text from her already waiting for a response. 

Lydia: "Are you awake? We have to take a detour on our way to D.C. Tell you later."

Stiles: "Scott wants to go hiking. Don't even think about wearing cute shoes. Be there at 11 to pick you up."

Lydia: "If I don't see the ocean immediately, this day will be ruined. Stiles Stilinski, don't you dare ruin my day. Call me!"

Stiles: "I miss you. Why aren't you here?"

Lydia: "Omg, Stiles. You dropped me off 45 minutes ago!"

Lydia: "I miss you, too, goofball."

On this particular day, Lydia was stretched out on Stiles' living room sofa, feet propped up on the arm, head resting on Stiles' thigh as she read one of textbooks required for her first semester at MIT. 

Stiles scrolled through his phone with one hand and lazily combed his fingers through strawberry blonde curls. 

"You know, professors don't take kindly to being proven mentally inferior on the first day of class, Lydia. At least fake it for a few weeks, ok?" his eyes never left his phone but he felt her eyes on him and tried to suppress a grin. 

She narrowed her eyes at him, upside down from her point of view "You know better than anyone that I'm not walking into any classroom unprepared. If the professor isn't equally organized, well, that certainly isn't my fault."

"Yeah, but do you have to memorize the textbook? Seems a bit above and beyond the call of duty. Come on! It's summer!"

"Stiles! I'm not memorizing! I just happen to remember things well. And if I want to have my PhD by the time I'm 22, I have to go above and beyond. And I am certainly not going to "play dumb" to spare some professor's feelings."

The subtext of her words wasn't lost on Stiles. She had played dumb for too long and she wasn't going back. 

"Oh man. They are not going to see you coming. Wish I could be there to see their faces. You should take photos."

He brushed a thumb against her cheek bone. 

She smiled up at him, "Consider it done."

There had been a lot of days like this lately. Just...being with one another. It was as if they were making up for lost time. Slowly increasing the number of calm, slow, content days so that all of the darkness of high school could somehow be overshadowed. 

Stiles' ringtone broke through the silence, causing Lydia to start and huff in exasperation. 

"Yo, Pops! What's up?" he answered with no preamble. Lydia raised her eyebrows and looked up. The two were currently waiting on the sheriff to arrive home from work so that they could have dinner together. 

"...no no, dad. It's fine! We are perfectly capable of feeding ourselves. Really. Jeez relax. Ok. See you in the morning. Bye." Stiles ended the phone call and looked down at Lydia. 

"Looks like we're on our own for dinner," he said. 

"Another overnight shift?" Lydia asked as she closed the book and moved to sit up. 

"Third this week," Stiles responded, "He's working too hard but he's stubborn and won't talk to me about it."

"Well, you must get that from him. You're the most stubborn person I've ever known," she grinned and bumped her shoulder against his. 

Stiles stood up, "yeah, yeah. Come on," holding out his hand, "lets go find some food. I'm starving."

Lydia allowed herself to be pulled off the sofa and didn't let go of his hand until they arrived in the kitchen, where she hopped up onto the counter and watched him open cabinets and the refrigerator, mumbling to himself about their contents. 

She indulged in a moment of admiration for Stiles. Tall, tan from their summer adventures, his shoulders and back full of flexing muscles that he kept well hidden most of the time, the stubble growth brought on by days of sleeping late and just not bothering to shave, his hands calloused from working on the jeep and never still for longer than a moment. 

"How about mac and cheese?" he asked, bent low and peering into the refrigerator. 

"From a box?" Lydia didn't even try to mask her disdain. She was possibly a bit spoiled by Stiles' cooking prowess these days. 

"A box? What am I? A hobo? No. I make killer mac and cheese! From scratch...mostly," he rambled and added, "Fine. We can have broccoli, too."

He tossed the broccoli to her and they went to work, prepping and chopping, low music floating from Lydia's phone through a bluetooth speaker. She sang the lyrics quietly as she chopped, no part of her self-conscious. 

"...Out there's a world that calls for me, girl  
Headin' out into the unknown  
Well if there are strangers, and all kinds of danger  
Please don't say I'm going alone..."

Stiles stirred the sauce absentmindedly and gazed at her with a small smile on his face, eyebrows raised in appreciation. Her hair was piled up on her head like a crown. Freckles dusted her shoulders from too many hours in the sun, her feet were bare, and her hips swayed to the song. He thought he could get used to the sight of domestic Lydia, although he knew these moments would be few and far between. This girl had too much to do in life to be trapped in a kitchen. Maybe that's why it gave him pause. Like seeing an albino deer or a cat walking on hind legs. 

Stiles balanced the wooden spoon over the pot of boiling pasta and strode over. He placed an almost chaste kiss on the skin where her neck met her shoulder. 

"I'm really glad you're here," he said, propping his chin on her shoulder. 

Lydia smiled and blushed and turned her head, kissing the corner of his mouth. 

"Me too," she leaned back against his chest, "but you're burning the sauce."

Stiles jumped and cursed, darting toward the stove.

"Motherfu...oh nope it's ok. That was a close one though. You should stop distracting me." 

"No promises," Lydia laughed as she dropped the vegetables into a skillet. 

**********

"You didn't have to hide it from me, Stiles," Lydia rolled her eyes and sat cross-legged on the sofa. She had made a beeline back for her textbook after dinner only to find it had vanished into thin air. 

"I would never!" he protested, barely able to keep the grin off his face, "I'm sure you'll find it. Later."

"Right," she smiled as Stiles flopped unceremoniously onto the other end of the sofa. 

They stayed there. A comfortable quiet between them. It stretched on for a few minutes before Stiles cleared his throat. 

"Can I ask you something?"

Her eyes drifted toward him, "Of course," and shifted so that she was facing him. 

"So, we've planned this whole trip and we're going to college and it's gonna be great obviously," he paused, " but are you...nervous?"

"About the trip and college?" she asked. 

"Well, yeah. But," he shifted so that he was facing her as well, "also about the future and leaving Beacon Hills."

"Oh," the silence stretched on as she pondered her answer. She could still hear the music floating to them from the kitchen. 

 

"...When the night was full of terrors  
And your eyes were filled with tears  
When you had not touched me yet  
Oh, take me back to the night we met..."

 

"I guess I'm nervous in a way," she said softly, "but it's nice to be nervous about something...normal. I'm nervous about leaving my mom and having a roommate who is a stranger and living in a strange city. Normal college stuff."

Stiles opened his mouth to reply, but Lydia reached out and held his hand to get his attention. 

"In another way, I'm not nervous at all. Because I have you and you make me feel safe. Like, I know that no matter what happens, we'll figure it out. We always do."

Stiles slowly exhaled a breath that he didn't even know he was holding. He leaned forward and kissed Lydia, trying to communicate all of the things he couldn't put into words. 

"I love you," he said hoarsely. 

"I love you," she whispered. 

Lydia moved closer, draping her legs across Stiles' lap and resting her head on his chest. He wrapped his long arms around her. 

They stayed like that. For a long time. Long enough for Lydia to begin to get drowsy. 

"What time is it?" She knew he wasn't asleep. 

"Uhm...11:30ish," he answered. 

"I should get going," she said and stretched her legs out in front of her, her arms over her head. 

"Oh, yeah, ok," he stood up, "I'll walk you out."

Lydia gathered her things and headed toward the front door. Before she made it out of the living room, Stiles cleared his throat. 

Uhm, hey Lydia," she turned back, eyebrows raised, "you know, you don't have to leave. I mean, you could stay here tonight..."

He stood there, hands clasped in front of him in that way that he did when he was nervous and Lydia stood there, mouth agape and eyes wide. 

Because here's the thing, they hadn't spent the night together yet. It wasn't something they had decided not to do. It just...hadn't happened. It was almost like an unspoken agreement that they not do anything to burst the fragile bubble that they were existing within, to suspend reality for as long as possible. And they had so many dark days to erase. 

"Oh," Lydia's voice came out at a higher pitch than she wanted it to and she mentally scrambled for words to form a sentence. 

"Unless you don't want to! Which is fine. Totally fine! I just thought...I thought it would be nice if you did..." he trailed off and silently wondered if he might spontaneously burst into flames. 

"Ok," Lydia said quietly, her mind reeling but made up. 

"Wha...are you sure?" Stiles asked. 

"I'm sure," she put her purse down, "but I'll have to borrow something to sleep in."

"Ok, yeah, of course," he said and walked toward the stairs, "come up and I'll get you something."

Lydia followed Stiles up the stairs as she had many times before and into his room where she had been many times before. But the air was different. The light was different. They were different. 

She watched from just inside the doorway as Stiles rummaged through a drawer, searching for what she didn't know. But then she saw it and stepped forward. 

"Can I wear this one?" she asked and put her hand on a piece of fabric. 

This was the one. His lacrosse jersey that she had pressed to her face as she and Noah stood inside the vacant room. When she pressed the shirt to her face that day, Stiles had become real to her. A real thing to fight for. Not a possibility but a real, true, flesh and bone person who she would tear worlds apart to find. 

Stiles looked at her curiously and handed the shirt to her. 

"Thanks," Lydia whispered. 

"Any time, Lydia. Literally," he smiled down at her.

"Ok, so," he said, "anything you need is in the bathroom. Make yourself at home." 

He sat awkwardly on his bed and toed his shoes off, then his socks. He didn't see Lydia pause, her hand on the doorknob, and turn back toward him. 

She crossed the room slowly and stood in front of him. Gently, she placed the jersey on the foot of the bed. Stiles gazed up at her as she used her knee to part his and stand between them. They both smiled. 

Lydia gingerly placed her thumbs into the waist band of her skirt and lowered it until it dropped to the floor around their feet. She watched as his chest rose and fell rapidly, swore to herself that she would never forget the look on his face. His eyes had darkened and his eyebrows furrowed. He squeezed his eyes shut as if to reign in self-control. 

"Look at me, Stiles," she whispered. 

"Can I touch you?" he asked. 

Lydia nodded and let her arms fall free at her sides. 

Stiles moved slowly, his hands started on her thighs and drifted up, grazing his rough palms against her pale skin. Over the sides of her panties, grasping her hips, rubbing his long thumbs across her stomach, and finally lifting her shirt up and over her head. 

Breath whooshed out of his lungs and Lydia felt electrified as it passed over her stomach and breasts, felt her heartbeat in every cell of her body. She reached down and tugged at the hem of his t-shirt. When he reached back and pulled his t-shirt over his head, Lydia's hands moved of their own volition. Down the sides of his neck, over the planes of his chest, fingernails dragging against his abdomen as she felt his agile fingers unhooking her bra. 

As he slid the straps down her arms, she ran her fingers through his hair and put just the slightest pressure on the back of his head. They moved toward each other and when his lips grazed over her nipple, a gasp escaped her and she suddenly wanted him everywhere at once. The warmth traveling low in her belly and taking over. 

Stiles attached his lips to her breast roughly and wrapped his hands around her small waist. 

The room was dimly lit and the summer moon was casting shadows across the room. Lydia trailed her fingers along the moles on his chin, his shoulders, his back. Her mind wandering about the way love makes a person perfect. He was a combination of cells, freckled with imperfections, years of scars that life had dealt him, some visible, more of them beyond sight. All of those things joined together to make this perfect man who she can't imagine life without. 

The perfect man who had just placed his padded fingers into the band of her panties. 

Stiles trailed kisses across her stomach and mumbled, "is this ok, Lydia?"

"Uh huh," she whispered, leaning forward, placing her mouth near his ear, "please don't stop." 

So he didn't. 

The house was so quiet. 

Stiles could hear a breeze upsetting the leaves in the tree outside his window, a car engine a few streets over, Lydia's breath hitching as he ran the pad of his finger through her folds. The wet heat causing him vibrate with cold chills. 

All this time, she stood before him, allowing him to map out her body with his eyes, his hands, his mouth. She felt lightheaded with want and the more his fingers explored, the more his lips moved across her breasts and belly, the weaker her legs became. 

Lydia reached out, urging him to stand. When he complied, hair a mess and his eyes dark and glazed with lust, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him finally. Stiles' hands went into her hair as their tongues danced together and she clumsily unbuckled his belt and let his pants fall to the floor. 

Then, there was no sound. 

Stiles and Lydia only heard their own breathing and a rush of wind and waves like listening to the ocean through a seashell. 

Palming him over his boxers, Lydia moaned and pushed them down over his ass and wrapped her small fingers around him. She stroked him softly, tightening her grip at the base and rotating her wrist. 

Stiles broke their kiss then, gasping for air, "Oh my...fuck. Lydia...I...you..." he mumbled incoherently. 

She released him and placed her hands on his chest, pushing him backward. 

He lay on his back and she placed a knee on either side of his thighs. 

"Lydia, are you sure?" Stiles whispered. 

"I'm sure," she whispered, leaning forward to kiss him, "are you?"

He huffed, "God yes," and wrapped his arms around her, rolling so that he was gazing down at her. 

Her hair fanned across his pillow, cheeks red, mouth swollen, she smiled up mischievously and bucked her hips. 

"Woman, you are gonna be the death of me," he kissed her and pushed himself inside her. 

And then time stopped. 

Or maybe it simply slowed down a bit. 

Or perhaps time ceased to exist. 

As their bodies began to move together, searching for the perfect rhythm, Stiles felt a surge of confidence that could only be born from sheer determination to blow Lydia's mind. 

He wrapped his arms around her and sat back on his knees, lifting her into his lap.

Lydia was unprepared but eager, arms slung around his neck, ankles locked, she used that leverage to move herself around him.

"Stiles," she panted, "no one has ever...I've never...oh my god...please don't stop..." resting her forehead against his. 

"You're perfect. Jesus Christ. You feel so good," he mumbled incoherently. 

When Stiles made to rearrange his grip and inadvertently bounced Lydia, he knew he had found what he was looking for. 

A muffled shout escaped as she tightened around Stiles and bit down on his shoulder, fighting to hold him in place, begging him silently to do it again and again. 

"I've got you," he whispered and gave her what she wanted. Because of course he did. He always would. 

When he reached between their bodies and used his thumb to press down just so, Lydia began to shake jerkily, the orgasm pulsing through her body, tightening and releasing over and over. 

When she felt the rhythm of their bodies changing, she knew Stiles had followed close behind her. 

*******

They didn't move for a long time. Just stayed there, listening to the sounds of their own hearts and lungs. Lydia's arms were still hugging Stiles and he drew soft circles on her back with the tips of his fingers. 

"You ok?" he asked, tugging lightly at the ends of her hair, leaning away to see her face. 

He examined her face and almost laughed. The strands of hair stuck to her damp brow, the sleepy eyes, the blissed out lazy grin. 

"We are doing that again. A lot. So much, Stiles Stilinski," she said as her eyes darted around his face, trying to figure out where in the world he came from. 

He snickered and his cheeks burned, but then his face turned serious. 

"Come on," he said, and led her to the shower. 

*******

They slept. A sleep they had never known and would surely be greedy about in the coming months. The sleep of the well-loved and cared for. The sleep of the content. 

*******

Lydia woke first the next morning. The room was almost hazy with bright summer morning sunshine. She looked around the room for a clock and cursed silently as she remembered that she had left her bag, complete with her phone, by the front door. 

She lay there quietly for a long time, staring at the ceiling and relishing the feeling of Stiles' arm slung across her stomach. The weight of it felt steady and secure, keeping her tethered to reality and her future. 

"How long have you been awake?" Stiles' gravely morning voice waking up the rest of her body. 

"I'm not sure. A while," she rolled over to face him and smiled, "go back to sleep. I don't mind."

"Are you joking? Lydia Martin is in my bed. I can't believe I fell asleep in the first place," he pulled her closer and she tucked her head under his chin, breathed in the scent of him. They were quiet again. They existed together more vividly in the silence than any other time, feeling free to leave most things unspoken. 

"Stiles, are you happy?" she asked quietly

"What?" The question shocked him out of his daze, "Of course I am," he furrowed his brow and leaned back to look into her eyes, "aren't you?"

"No! Yes! I'm happier than I've ever been," Lydia took a shaky breath, "what I meant to ask was are you as happy with me as you imagined you would be for all those years? Am I what you hoped I would be?" 

She forced herself, with great difficulty, to look at Stiles without flinching or trembling. Braced herself. 

Stiles took a moment to answer, he still had a hard time believing that she had an ounce of self-doubt. She was a force of nature. 

"It's not a fair question, Lydia," he watched her face and continued before she could interrupt, "because I had no idea how amazing you were back then. I had no idea how smart and talented and dynamic and loyal and fearless and funny and caring you really are back then. The Lydia I hoped for was nothing compared to the one I have."

"Oh," she smiled just enough for the dimple on her right cheek to make an appearance, "ok."

"You know, Lydia Martin, my life's work is going to be making sure you're happy every day for the rest of your life as long as you'll let me, right?"

And Lydia did know. She knew it was an empirical fact. There were times when she had pushed him away or thought that she didn't deserve it, when she would ignore him or roll her eyes. But Stiles never stopped caring for her and never asked for one thing in return. 

"You know, I'm going to make it my life's work to let you know every single day how much I appreciate you, right?" she said and kissed him lightly. 

"Looking forward to it," he smiled. 

Just then, the two heard the front door open and shut. 

Lydia's eyes grew to the size of saucers, "your dad!" she scream-whispered. 

Stiles jumped out of bed and was across the room and locking the door in about half a second. He stood there, palm against the door, trying to catch his breath, as he heard his dad's footfalls on the stairs. Lydia sat in the middle of his bed, cross-legged, looking nervous. 

"Hey, kiddo," Noah said as he knocked lightly, "I'm going to hit the hay. I'll grab some food in a few hours."

"Ok, dad," Stiles said, eyes locked with Lydia's, "good night."

"Good night, son," Stiles shoulders relaxed, he heard his father clear his throat on the other side of the door, "and good night to you, too, Lydia."

Her hand flew up and covered her mouth, looking at Stiles, her eyes imploring him for instruction. 

He shrugged. The boy actually shrugged. 

"Good night, Sheriff," she finally said and hurled herself sideways onto a pillow. 

"So..." Stiles said as he sat down on the edge of the bed, "he seemed to take that pretty well."


End file.
